


Not broken

by WilwyWaylan



Series: Feuilly Week [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexuality, Gen, and the others - Freeform, but especially Feuilly-centric, lots of hesitations, lots of questionning, poor Feuilly, questionning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 06:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12525024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Sometimes, Feuilly wonders if he's not broken. If there's not something wrong with him.





	Not broken

**Author's Note:**

> Day four of Feuilly week ! And since it's Asexuality Awareness day, well.... The subject was kind of a given. Still, a bit of heavy stuff, maybe. But eh.

For the longest time, attraction had been for Feuilly the greatest riddle of all. He could understand part of it, of course, knew that it was divided into different categories. Like how he could spend hours just watching the way the hair of the person sitting opposing him in the train fell around their faces, or hands moving gracefully around. Sometimes, he sketched them out, to remember them. Sometimes, he just watched. That was aesthetic attraction. Or like the first time Montparnasse was brought into his foster family, ad he decided immediatly that he wanted to be close to that strange, sullen boy with dark brown eyes and the blackest hair he'd ever seen. That was platonic attraction. That, he could feel, very well.  
  
Romantic attraction, he did feel, a lot. Not to say that he was a fickle heart, but he didn't need much to develop a crush on someone. Of course, he didn't call them "crushes". He didn't call them anyone because he didn't tell anyone, just harboring this delicious heart-clenching sensation, spending sleepless nights after sleepless nights building fantasies of a perfect life with his beloved. He rarely declared his feelings. First, because he tended to fall for boys more than for girls. The first time he had tried to confess to a boy, said boy had made fun of him in front of the whole school, breaking his heart. And he quickly learned that those kinds of affection could be very badly received, not to mention leading to a beating. Second, because he didn't want to get his feelings hurt too much. He didn't look that good, he didn't have all those qualities other people seemed to have, so why would people choose him ? So he kept quiet, cultivating his little crushes in silence until they either went away on his own or developped into something stronger than kept him awake at night and filled his stomach with delicious butterflies.  
  
As for sexual attraction.... Almost as soon as he learnt about sex, Feuilly had wondered if there wasn't something wrong with him. Because surely, he was missing something. Be it a cue, an information, or some more important part of something, maybe himself ? That could explain how he didn't feel attracted to people around him, no one. Oh, he still fell in love, but when he heard other people refer to someone as "sexy", it didn't hold any meaning for him. He first figured that he had a "type", a very precise one, and the one they were talking about simply didn't fit that type. But after a long type, he finally realized that no one fit the type. He could recognize that someone had beautiful legs, nice-looking muscles, a gorgeous face, hands that he wanted to hold. But it didn't ring any bell for him. He liked to look at them, wanted to draw them, wanted to date them even, but never did he feel that pinch, that drive to get them to bed. He did, once or twice, because he was curious, and it felt good, but still, something was lacking.  
  
And the years trickled by, one by one. And still, no one came by . To be fair, Feuilly was quite busy. He had taken two jobs to be able to live on his own, and with the commute, he often didn't have any time for himself. He met people, sometimes, at work, or the rare times he went out to drink some coffee. He dated a few, he even had sex with them, which was good or average, depended. He convinced himself that what he felt was accurate enough, it was enough. He didn't really mean anything else in his life.  
  
But still, sometimes, he felt like something was missing. Like he had something, in his brain, that had been switched off permanently. Was it a sickness ? Was it maybe linked to a memory he had repressed ? Was it trauma ? Bad experience ? Who knew ? He felt anxious, sometimes, when the idea that, maybe, something happened, something that was hidden in a corner of his mind, something he wasn't aware of. And that small secret was poisoning him. Surely it was bad, right ? Since everyone seemed to feel sexual attraction to the extent that it was present everywhere, in books, movies, advertisment even, it was important and ever present. And for Feuilly not to feel it, it meant that something was probably wrong. He didn't pay too much attention to it, at least when he could avoid it. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, it all came back, and it scared him. It scared him a lot.  
  
Until that evening, where a coworker of his dragged him to a meeting, arguing that he would certainly meet a lot of fascinating people with very interesting ideas ("and maybe the love of your life !" was added with a nudge and a wink). Feuilly half-expected some kind of organized meeting, with an orator, maybe a conference of some sorts ? There was an orator, a blond man standing on a table and talking about equality and freedom. But there were people throwing around jokes too, someone who looked very bored by what was happening and was alternating between sketching something and needling the orator, a calm-looking man who calmed the conversation from time to time...   
Finally, the orator stepped down from his stand, and the crowd broke in several little groups. Feuilly made his way to the table where the blond man was sitting, with the calm-looking man and another one with glitter in his hair. When he stopped near them, they glanced at him in perfect unisson. He introduced himself, half-expecting a lukewarm welcome or a few generic polite words. Instead, they seemed delighted to see him. The glittery one pushed a free chair and invited him to sit, and the blond one immediatly asked for his opinion on their latest subject at hand. And soon, they were engrossed in their conversation.  
  
Feuilly went back to the meetings. His schedule was always hectic, but he did his best to make some time. Les Amis de l'ABC, especially their core, were a lively bunch, very friendly, and they welcomed him as one of their own immediatly. Enjolras looked up to him, Combeferre always asked for his advice, Jehan discussed litterature with him, Eponine made fun of him (in a brotherly way of course). He sometimes sat with Grantaire and they sketched the others, and Bahorel loved mock-wrestling with him. He felt at ease with them, they respected him and never judged him for his stances and ideas.  
  
That evening, he was sitting with Enjolras after the meeting. Both were tired at the end of that long journey, and they were just chatting, waiting for the others to finish their own discussions. To be fair, Feuilly was stalling a bit, enjoying the atmosphere despite his brain being clouded by fatigue. It was probably that fog that made him finally spill the beans about what he felt. He didn't want to burden Enjolras, he didn't even mean to, and he couldn't even say what the conversation was about, but suddenly, he was talking about everything he'd ever felt on the subject. And Enjolras, instead of laughing at him, or worse, telling him that he was a lost cause and should check in at the nearest psychiatric ward, just nodded and said :  
  
\- Yes, I know what you mean. I'm like that too.  
  
It was only thanks to the chair under him that Feuilly didn't sprawl on the floor. He looked at Enjolras with widening eyes, and managed to stammer :  
  
\- You w-what ? You t-too ?  
  
\- Yes. I mean, I've been in your shoes. I've gone through the same questionning. And let me tell you, you're not broken.  
  
Feuily didn't think he'd ever hear those words one day. Not that they would hit so hard. Tears sprang from his eyes, and before he could stop it, he was crying, hiding his face in his hands. It was too hard to stand straight, too hard even to stay upright, and he laid his head on the table, still weeping. There weren't dramatic sobs, or huge tears. Just the calm ones that came with the relief to know that he wasn't broken, and there wasn't anything wrong with you. Enjolras was stroking his hair, in a calming manner. He didn't try to stop him from crying, and Feuilly was grateful for that.  
  
After a few minutes, he calmed down enough to sit straight again. He wiped his face (Enjolras politely looked away), then, when his voice felt solid enough again, apologized :  
  
\- I'm sorry, I didn't...  
  
\- Don't be, Enjolras interrupted. I know how it feels.   
  
\- So... I'm not.... there's nothing wrong with not feeling that kind of attraction ?  
  
\- Nothing wrong.  
  
The blond was smiling, a brilliant smile that Feuilly couldn't help but answer to.  
  
\- It simply means that you are asexual, the blond explained.  
  
\- Asexual ?  
  
\- Yes. It means you're not sexually attracted to other people. It's as valid as an orientation as any other. There's a whole lot of possibilities, that are included in the asexuality spectrum. Like, for example...  
  
Feuilly listened to Enjolras' explainations about asexuality, demisexuality, and all those other terms he never heard of and now wanted to know more about. He felt well, happy and... home, in a way. There was a warm feeling in his stomach, that he would remember later, the kind of warm comfort only reassurace could bring. The reassurance to know, after all these years, that he was not broken, that there was nothing wrong with him. He was asexual, and that was normal. _He_ was normal.


End file.
